


May I Have This Dance?

by fencecollapsed



Category: The Guy Who Didn't Like Musicals - Team StarKid
Genre: Blood and Gore, Dancing, F/M, Kissing, Making Out, Minor Character Death, Villains, Violence, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-28
Updated: 2020-02-28
Packaged: 2021-02-19 18:23:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22935865
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencecollapsed/pseuds/fencecollapsed
Summary: Paul takes her hand and lifts them both to their feet. His other hand on her hip pulls her flush against him and she falls into position naturally, her hand finding its place on his chest. He leans down and his cool breath brushes her ear."May I have this dance?""You have them all."
Relationships: Paul Matthews/Emma Perkins
Comments: 1
Kudos: 45





	May I Have This Dance?

**Author's Note:**

> *writes a separate villain!paulkins oneshot instead of an actual story update* ....schwoopsie?

"You see that, babe?"

"Oh, I see it."

People. Clueless people with their backs turned. A nice rounded trio of people just  _ standing  _ out on the street. They have weapons, sure, but sheathed in belts and slung over backs, not in hand.

A soft laugh jingles from Emma where she's crouched in the alleyway. At her side, Paul hums.

"I love when they're stupid," she says.

Paul dips his head and noses her cheek softly, making her giggle again. "I love  _ you." _

"Oh, Paul,"

Emma purrs and brings her hand to his cheek. Her thumb traces over an old scar, just a small break in the skin from a time long since passed. He brushes a lock of loose hair behind her ear and leans in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. She grabs his tattered, bloody tie and yanks him down to steal one for herself. Sweet poison drips down her chin, her body vibrating to the building rhythm between them.

Paul takes her hand and lifts them both to their feet. His other hand on her hip pulls her flush against him and she falls into position naturally, her hand finding its place on his chest. He leans down and his cool breath brushes her ear.

"May I have this dance?"

"You have them all." Emma recalls with a smile.

"I still like to ask. I like to make sure you're still happy."

Emma's hand toys fondly with the tattered lapel of Paul's jacket. "I am."

She kisses him again and they both feel the warmth.

She shoots a side-eye towards the trio on the street - a short, stocky woman and two men, one tall and buff, the other young and lanky and lean. Still clueless.

"What do you think, babe? One for each of us and we share the third?" Paul asks.

Emma nods. "Nothing wrong with a little greed."

"After all, the Hive needs to feed."

Another nod and Emma's eager step begins the waltz. The Hive is hungry. A city nearly theirs, just a few pesky clingers trying to hide from apotheosis always makes it more noticeable. They're always hungry - starved in fact. Starved to feel every heart beating in time, every vein running blue, every voice singing in harmony. It's an endless, hollow hunger, and it won't be satisfied until the entire planet is one.

The people have stepped onto the stage.

"Shit." The tall man says, ushering the other two behind him as Paul and Emma break apart.

Emma slinks gracefully toward him on her toes, in spite of the way her bandaged leg trembles with every step. She looks him up and down.

"Oh, you look just like my dad," she remarks, grabbing his face. "I fucking hated my dad. I ripped him to pieces."

"Martha," the man stammers through chattering teeth, glancing at the woman. "Run."

"We're not leaving you," Martha grips his shoulder, holding the younger man tight to her side as well.

Emma begins to circle, like a delicate shark moving in wide ballet steps. Paul walks to her rhythm, keeping the perimeter closed. Their threatening harmony fills the air.

"Ryan," the man addresses his son now. "Take your mother and go, and… and-"

"And what?" Emma tilts his chin towards her again as she passes with a sneer. "Oh, it's a shame. You seem like a way better dad than mine."

He tries to speak again, tries to beg, maybe, but Emma yanks him into a twirl as her new partner while Paul grabs the son. Martha is left in the middle of the show, the lone audience, but before she can properly react Emma has her husband in a French dip and the sounds of ripping flesh fill the air, background noise to the singing that does not cease.

Emma's claws are deep in his sputtering throat, her face the prime target for his blood spray. He makes a nasty gargling sound as she fishes in his neck, reaching aimlessly for his wife. Martha screams as if there's a god to listen, praying in the same vein that she could tear her eyes from this scene but blue slime is dripping from Emma's mouth into his horribly open wound and with a  _ thump _ his body hits the ground. He twitches to an unheard rhythm.

Martha collapses to her knees, hands clapped over her mouth, and with horrifically perfect timing her son drops in front of her. His stomach is open, entrails ripped apart and hanging out. His bloodstained hand seems to reach for her, glassy eyes staring straight through her. She watches the green begin to fade into an empty blue. He twitches in time with his father.

Martha keels over and retches.

Above their audience Paul catches Emma as she twirls back to him, capturing her bloodied lips with the passion of a performance high. Both drip with blood and viscera but seem happy to devour it off each other, only parting for seconds at a time to murmur desperate lyrics to each other.

_ "Mad about you," _ Emma drawls the note before tucking into Paul's neck, kissing the burn scar that peeks out just above his collar.

He pulls her closer, his hand deliberately over her bandaged thigh.

Martha, believing again as if there's a god to care that they've forgotten her, wipes her mouth and staggers to her feet to make her getaway. Without batting an eye Paul twirls Emma out to the end of his arm and she catches Martha by the back of her coat. Martha, evidently a little smarter than her husband and son, fumbles desperately for the hunting knife sheathed in her belt.

There are four beats in the song's final measure.

Martha gets a hold on her knife.

Martha lands a slash on Emma's cheek.

Martha's spine snaps with an on-beat  _ crack. _

Martha hits the ground, twitching.

Emma twirls back into Paul's arms, exhilarated, a deep blue cut grazing her cheek.

"Oh, Em," Paul coos empathetically, feeling the sting from the blade across his own cheek.

"I'm fine, I needed that." She breathes in like the air is fresh and reviving, though they haven't gotten that sensation from breathing in ages.

Paul hums, just as satisfied. Still, though, he wipes away the blue blood dripping down Emma's face with his thumb and kisses very gently below her wound. It's already starting to close.

_ "I love you," _ he sings, drifting his thumb over her jaw.

_ "You're my everything," _ Emma sings back and presses her forehead to his.

The satisfaction won't last forever. Only as long as the Hive continues to spread with proper rhythm. The pace will lull again, eventually, and the hunger will return. For now, though, they'll revel in its absence, and in each other. That's all they really want.

**Author's Note:**

> ah yes, murdering a family of three, the ideal date night.
> 
> thanks for reading! <3


End file.
